The Right Medicine
By
Ginny Baird
Published by
Winter Wedding Press
Copyright 2012
Ginny Baird
Kobo Edition
ISBN 978-0-9851235-3-6
All Rights Reserved
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Characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
Edited by Martha Trachtenberg
Cover by Dar Albert
The Right Medicine
Carly slammed her hammer onto the uneven slats of the wraparound porch and sat on a weathered step. She wasn’t so sure she liked country life. All afternoon, it seemed, she’d been trying to pound a series of stubborn nails into the warped wood of this old porch, but none were willing to hold.
Here she was, a thirty-two-year-old divorcée in the throes of PMS, not a pint of Walt and Winston’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream within a twenty-mile radius.
Life was hell,
she decided, tucking a sweaty strand back into the tight band holding her ponytail.
Well, not exactly hell...
She squinted through the midday glare at the brown and gray hills before her. It was beautiful, she had to admit. Beautiful and serene. Just what the kids needed after her rugged divorce.
The circumstances had caught her off guard. Initially, she hadn’t a clue what her next move would be. Peter was the one with the ready answers. Where he would go.
Paris.
What he would do.
Marry Jenny.
Of course that was perfect for him, Carly’d told him. What with Becky just ten and Jonathan almost seven, he’d had so much experience with children. Jenny, a fashion magazine favorite, was barely twenty-two.
Carly tugged the scrunchie from her honey hair, letting its fine wisps fall to her well-defined shoulders as they had in high school. No perky cheerleader by any stretch, serious-minded Carly had played lacrosse instead.
Athletically inclined
was how Peter used to define her, with a naughty grin. A grin she’d found irresistible in those early days. Days when Peter, a fledgling photojournalist, had been young and lithe himself. The tragedy was, in fourteen years he’d scarcely changed a bit, while the grueling demands of childbirth and a critical care nurse’s schedule had altered Carly’s figure, leaving her with more hips than muscle. Still, she considered herself attractive in a womanly way and was confident that others saw it. Even if Peter couldn’t.
Raw rubber crunched on gravel and Carly turned to see the bright orange school bus pulling up to the edge of her drive. Becky descended the metal steps, protesting loudly as her younger brother deliberately angled the corner of his notebook into her back.
“Mom!” Becky cried, rushing up the hill, “he poked me!” Her auburn hair was on fire with sun, her freckles awash with perspiration. As she took in the wide-set evergreen eyes perfectly placed between two stunning pigtails, Carly couldn’t help but think that her lovely daughter was all Peter. Jonathan wasn’t far behind, his towhead disheveled, his face crimson. “Ma! She called me a geek! And right in front of my friends!”
Carly stood to greet them. “All right, you two. Enough’s enough. Get on in the house and wash up. Surprises on the kitchen table.”
All of a sudden, her two came alive with “oh-boys” and “ye-hahs,” high-fiving it all the way into the house. Carly rolled her eyes and scooped up the scattered nails, grateful she’d had the foresight to bake cupcakes early this morning. All she had the energy for now was a cup of hot tea and a shower. A warm man would be nice too, she found herself thinking. But she let that thought slide as she walked indoors and headed for the stove.
Later that night, with homework and dishes done and the little ones tucked in, Carly had nothing but fading daylight to keep her company. She carried a hot cup of tea onto the porch to watch the setting sun send slivers of loneliness across the darkening mountains. They’d been here nearly nine months now. Carly’s gestation was nearly done. Soon she’d be assimilated. If not considered a native, at least a regular fixture in this small, unpretentious burg that provided an easy commute to her job at the hospital.
Carly set her mug on the porch railing and stretched her legs into the empty rocker opposite her own. It had been Peter’s chair, but he’d left it behind when he’d gone. Too burdensome for Paris, Carly supposed. Something like a settled wife and two growing children... It felt odd using it as a footrest. Yet fitting somehow, too. She slipped her loafers off her throbbing feet, fighting the memory of a strong masculine hand around her instep, absorbing the tensions of the day.
Now the burden was exclusively hers. When she ached, she took acetaminophen. When she cried, she pulled the pillows over her head so the children wouldn’t hear. When the sting of a life being cleaved in two seemed almost too much to bear, she tried to imagine she wouldn’t always be alone. But she understood the illusion for what it was. She’d left a world of greater opportunity for herself, in exchange for a more wholesome existence for her children.
The trade-off was a demanding job with supervisory duties, an occupation that took her into town before the kids boarded the morning bus, but fortunately allowed her to get home before they returned each afternoon. The real downside to life in the rural community was the apparent lack of eligible bachelors. Not that Carly was looking. It was just that, if ever she were to change her mind, it would be nice to have the option. But at the hospital, everybody was married (and devoted), married (and cheating), married (to their work and not interested), or gay.
On the bad days, it was particularly hard not having anyone to talk to. Not that Peter had completely comprehended the emotional toll her job sometimes took, but at least he’d been there to listen. Been there to rub her shoulders, bring her a glass of wine... Carly raised a hand to her cheek, finding moisture there. And she knew that what she’d come to seek in the country wasn’t just about the kids finding a better life. It had something to do with her feeling loved, as well.
The call from the school nurse’s office was unexpected. Carly’s children had been phenomenally healthy this year. The two of them had missed school only once for two days running, having been simultaneously ill with a severe bout of stomach flu. Now she was being told that Becky had a temperature of one hundred and two and was complaining of a sore throat.
Carly made certain a senior nurse could cover for her, then hurriedly made her way to the parking garage. She knew she’d make a round-trip to retrieve Becky from her elementary school and then bring her back here to get tested for strep. Then there’d be a prescription to fill. Carly checked the time on her cell before setting the car in gear. It all had to be done in the two hours and twenty minutes she had before Jonathan got off the school bus at home.
Carly impatiently tapped her foot as she and Becky stood in line in the ancient pharmacy. In all the time they’d lived here, Carly’d only been in this place twice. Once to buy tampons, the other time to purchase a last-minute birthday card for her floor supervisor. By the grace of God, she’d never yet had to fill a prescription. Good thing too, she thought, checking the time again. If it had been anything serious, she’d have been dead by the time she’d gotten her medicine. This line wasn’t moving one bit.
At that very moment, a low, rumbling laughter rose above the countertop. “Yes, Mrs. Williams,” he was saying, apparently into the phone, “not to worry one bit. Have that waiting for you by the time you get here.”
Likely story, Carly thought, working her way up to the window. It was finally her turn. The old man ahead of her had just retrieved a labeled bag from a wide hand reaching through the glass, and was bidding good-bye to the jovial pharmacist, who urged him to say hello to... of all things... his dog, Nelly.
Carly had endured just about enough of this and was ready to voice her complaint when she spied a small grocery sack through the murky pane. The pharmacist, his back to her, withdrew something from its rustling hollow that looked suspiciously like Walt and Winston’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream, and stowed it in a small refrigerator.
Carly’s heart rose in her throat as the pharmacist turned to greet her, and chestnut brown eyes fell on her own. An easy smile poured across his mustached lip. “Can I help you?” he asked with a casual grace, seeming to ignore her dumbstruck look.
“Maybe you could tell me where you get your Walt and Winston’s?” she asked, feeling like a foolish girl at a Sadie Hawkins Dance. “I mean,” she continued awkwardly, “someplace nearby, where you and your wife pick it up?”
“No wife,” he replied, his lips turned up slightly at the corners, his complexion taking on a ruddy hue. “Just me and a bunch of sick folks here.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Carly said, setting her prescription on the counter.
There was a tug at her sleeve. She looked down and, for the first time in five minutes, recalled she had a daughter.
“Aren’t we ready to go yet?” Becky asked, looking fragile and exhausted.
“Not just yet, sweetie,” Carly answered, squeezing her daughter’s hand.
“I’ll have this right up for you,” the pharmacist said kindly. He grinned at Carly in a way that sent all sorts of wild butterflies fluttering. “And, it’s at Kent's Store.”
“I’m sorry?” she asked, lost in the heat of his stare.
“The place where I pick up the ice cream. It’s over in Whitehall, near the vineyards. Do you know it?”
Carly numbly shook her head.
He laughed good-naturedly. “You must be new in town.”
“Not brand new, but we’re still getting used to things. I mean, just me and the kids. It’s just the three of us.”
“That so?” he asked, coloring from the neck up. “Well then, it sounds like you need someone to show you around. Or, at least, point you in the right direction--as far as Walt and Winston’s is concerned.”
Carly smiled as he turned to fill her prescription, with a bright, melodious whistle. Maybe this move to the country wasn’t only going to be good for the children. Perhaps there was to be something special in it for her, too.
In fact, she thought, feeling her face flush, this fresh start might be
just what the doctor ordered...
for all of them.
The End
A Note from the Author
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The Right Medicine.
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ALSO BY GINNY BAIRD
The Sometime Bride
Real Romance
Santa Fe Fortune
How to Marry a Matador
The Christmas Catch
The Holiday Bride
Interested in hearing more from Ginny Baird?
Please keep reading for extended excerpts from two of her novels,
The Sometime Bride
and
Real Romance
.
THE SOMETIME BRIDE
Carrie swirled the ladle nervously around the near-empty punch bowl. The shower had gone off without a hitch. She and Mike—uh, Wilson—had even gotten some lovely gifts. A blender, cooking utensils. Towels. All the nice little odds and ends that help make a newlywed house a home. This wasn’t such a good idea, after all. In fact, it was terrible. So many people had gone to so much time, trouble, and expense. Even Nellie’s place cards were beautiful. A keepsake for the happy couple. Carrie frowned at her murky reflection centered in the twirling ice ring.
And to make matters worse, Mike had been an absolute champ. Everybody adored him implicitly. He’d been warm, witty, and charming the whole afternoon through. His act as her fiancé had almost even seemed real; at least his hugs and affectionate glances had seemed authentic enough. And those few unexpected kisses, though innocent enough in their placement
—
one at her temple, one on the back of her hand, the one at her neckline… Well, all right, maybe the one at her neck hadn’t seemed quite so innocent in intent as the others. But still, no matter where his kisses had landed, each time Mike had surprised her with the warm contact of his lips, her world had caved in and her heart had let go. Let go of any notion that this thing between them was little more than make-believe. Because, though words could deceive, feelings seldom lied, and when Mike brought his flesh to hers… Carrie dropped the ladle into the punch bowl as goose bumps tore down her spine.